


Tipping the Scales

by Markasite (ThePioden)



Series: Laugh at Live Dragons [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Hawke's Dragon Kink, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shapeshifter!Anders, Shapeshifting, Size Difference, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 15:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12962442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePioden/pseuds/Markasite
Summary: Anders can turn into a drake. Hawke is... kindaveryinto that.





	Tipping the Scales

**Author's Note:**

  * For [therealmnemo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealmnemo/gifts).



Leaving Anders alone always made her nervous. True, setting up within the hunting radius of a high dragon tended to keep the more unwanted visitors away, and the dragon and her harem seemed content enough to leave them alone, but, well. Last time Hawke had been gone for more than a week, Anders had managed to find not one but _three_ cats. Baby mountain lions, really, and he made sadder eyes than the dog after table scraps when she told him no. 

The trek up to their reclaimed cave was a dusty scrabble over broken rocks in the dark, while the scaly bulk of their unwitting protector dozed on the valley floor below. Even if the dragon was content to ignore their presence when they were safely tucked away in a nook halfway up the ridge, there was no point in presenting her a tempting target. 

The little cave was quiet when Hawke slipped around the bulwark of timber that kept out the weather, and the fire pit was cold. “Anders?” she called softly, letting her pack fall to the ground. The lack of answer wasn’t _too_ surprising - Anders often went out, now that they were safe. Relatively safe. 

Hawke lit the fire by feel, fumbling the flint only slightly. It wasn’t really a skill she’d had reason to learn until very recently, and then only in the rare gaps when she and Anders were apart. 

“You’re getting spoilt, Hawke,” she murmured to herself as the fire crackled to tenuous life, throwing faint, flickering light against the walls. Anders’ staff was gone, but his pack was in its usual place on top of a flat boulder, their chaotic mess of blankets that couldn’t rightly be called bedrolls as disarrayed as ever, the oil lantern unlit near a shabby book, broken-spined and laid face-down to hold its place. Surreptitiously, Hawke toed her way over to the blankets, a knot of tension easing when a little rummaging revealed the embroidered pillow Anders always kept with him. Not that she expected him to just _vanish_ , not _really_ , but…

A crunch and scrape of rock from just outside the mouth of the cave had Hawke whirling around, dropping the pillow to draw her daggers from her back. That wasn’t human feet on the path, not to shift the big rocks like that. Hawke had avoided killing any dragonlings thus far, but if one cornered her in here - Maker, if one just set their makeshift door alight she’d choke on the smoke like as not, let alone facing the threat of teeth and claws.

Shadow-silent, Hawke slipped around the tangle of deadwood, still hidden in the gloom but with a clear enough view of the rocky trail of the ridge. She cursed to herself, a frantic litany of blasphemy in her head. Picking its way clumsily up the path was a full-grown _drake_. It was slow and haphazard, claws scrabbling and slipping on scree and boulders, and it seemed to be having trouble with the narrowness of the ridge, but it was steadily progressing _up_. 

Hawke ran the mental calculations quickly. She could take a drake, probably, by herself, but it wouldn’t be quiet, and the high dragon sleeping on the floor probably wouldn’t overlook Hawke killing one of her harem, or the inevitable smell of blood. The entrance to the cave was narrow and dark - If Hawke was _lucky_ , it would just walk past, following the trail to the top of the ridge. Not that Hawke was ever really lucky. 

The drake drew near level with the cave, that huge, sharp head swinging around as it scented the air. It stopped, cat-pupil eyes gazing into the shadows concealing Hawke. She planted her feet, her fingers flexing on the hilts of her knives. _Go low, then up_ , she thought, _right under the chin and into the throat, then kick it over the ridge_. 

The drake sniffed at the air again, moving forward, a curious, almost surprised expression on its lizardy face. It blinked, and Hawke moved. Low across the ground, inside the range of its teeth, then leaping up to slash -

There was a brief moment of confusion, and then Hawke’s wrist stopped moving. Her other arm came around before she could even think about it, and was likewise arrested. She blinked. Hands on her wrists, holding her knives away from his body, Anders looked mostly alarmed and slightly concerned. 

“Maker’s _balls_!” she hissed at him. “Anders! That was _you_?”

“Sorry, love,” he whispered back at her, still holding onto her wrists even as stymied adrenaline made her hands shake. 

“Sorry _nothing_ , you scared me half to death-”

“Hawke,” he said, softly but firmly, “if I let you go, will you stab me.”

“I might! I _cannot believe_ -”

“I’m letting go of you. Don’t stab me.”

He released her wrists. She didn’t stab him. It was a near thing. 

Safely ensconced in their little cave, Hawke whirled on Anders, throwing her hands into the air with a strangled, inarticulate sound that meant ‘explain.’

“I didn't think you'd be home until morning,” said Anders, somewhat sheepishly. 

Hawke made an impatient noise that seemed to mean this was inadequate. 

“Well, you were gone and I was bored and it seemed like a fun challenge, and it took me all _week_ to figure out, I only really got it sustained this morning…” he trailed off, tugging nervously at his earlobe. “I thought,” he said, cheeks stained a faint pink under his freckles, “that you might be into it?”

“I mean, _yes_ ,” said Hawke, and hauled him in by the lapels for a rather thorough snogging. 

***

Even twenty feet long and covered in scales, Anders lay like a cat, hind legs tucked up close and front paws stretched in front of him. In full daylight, he was a glossy moss green, tawny dapples speckling his neck and thickening to a golden mantle across his shoulder-spurs. Each claw was tipped in a perfect, ivory, crescent-moon claw, each spine on his head a burnished darker green. His eyes were yellow, sharp and slit-pupilled, and currently half-mast under his translucent third lid as Hawke’s hands slid over the muscles banded under his hide. 

As a human, he ran cool, his hands and feet always cold. As a drake, his scaly skin was fever-warm. 

“Can you,” Hawke asked, running her hand up the marginally more tender links of his throat, “breathe fire?”

Anders blinked, slowly, looking almost contemplative. Then he pulled his head back and up, away from her hands. He drew in a breath, his chest visibly expanding. He was still for a moment, and then a ripple ran up his hide from his chest to his throat like a horse shivering off flies. 

His neck bulged for just a second, and he hesitated, then opened his jaws and let loose a sloppy fireball with a kind of horrible coughing sound. It obliterated a small tree. 

“That,” said Hawke, over the merry crackle of young fir, “was _hot._ ”

Anders’ expression was mixed on his dragony face, but he was definitely getting the hang of this body based on how fast he had Hawke pinned to the ground beneath one massive, talon-tipped foot. 

Hawke shivered a little, trapped supine on the ground, Anders keeping most of his considerable weight off her but still caging her with talons and scales. They’d talked about this, that first night, about how much Hawke could handle, about how far Anders could go, about how _both_ of them could call this to a halt. And more than that, it was _Anders_ who would never hurt her, even like this. That didn't stop her heart from pounding, though. 

Anders lowered his great, spiky head to bring his face close to hers. His breath was hot and strangely dry, smelling faintly of hot metal and something sharp and acidic. He opened his jaws, just a little - just enough to show her the faintest tease of needle-sharp teeth - and _growled_.

It was like another fireball had taken up residence in her stomach, that growl sending giddy, swooping heat through her belly and making her shiver. Anders felt it too, it seemed, because he pulled back far enough to give Hawke enough room to shimmy out if her pants. 

She didn't even try to sit up, just shoving her opened trousers halfway down her thighs and letting her shirt fall open around her, arms still trapped in the sleeves. She felt her peaked nipples scraping against the hard, smooth scales of Anders’ toes with every excited, shaky breath. Hawked arched into it, pressing her breasts hard against the unyielding weight pinning her body, deliberately rubbing her skin against scales. 

Anders slowly drew his caging foot up and replaced it with his head, the skin of his throat dry and soft like fine parchment against her belly and the tops of her thighs. Maker’s sack, his head was the length of her _leg_ , and she wasn't a short woman by any means. 

Hawke let her legs fall open, just a little, and arched again, a slow roll of her body that started at her shoulders and pushed every bit of soft, tender human skin between her collarbones and knees against Anders’ terrifying jaws. 

She shivered again. This time, Anders’ growl rattled neatly into the apex of her thighs, the subsonic rumbles making her pelvis buzz and her clit throb. This time, when she pressed up into those tantalizing vibrations, she left wetness on Anders’ smooth, yielding throat.

He inhaled again like he was going to spit another fireball, his nostrils flaring wide and his mouth opening just enough to taste the air, an apex predator hunting Hawke’s arousal. Anders’ breaths were heavy and hot, furnace-gusts of burning metal against her face. The pulsing vibrations of his growling made her hips jerk, but Anders’ throat was too yielding to really grind against, his head to heavy to allow her to squirm into a better position to take advantage of the rock-hard smoothness of his jaw.

Hawke whined, still jerking her hips in helpless, abortive motions against the buzz in Anders’ throat. She raised her hands to his muzzle just to have something to hold onto, the sharp ridge of his snout tucking neatly into her palms. 

“Anders, _come on_ ,” she entreated. He likely couldn’t see her over the length of his nose like this, which was probably for the better, half tangled in her clothes with her knees raised and tucked behind the spines of a drake’s jaw, petting his face and pouting. It certainly wasn’t a _dignified_ way to behave. 

Anders blinked at her with his translucent third eyelids, which made Hawke shiver in a way that wasn’t _entirely_ nice. The moment hung in the air, one heartbeat, two - and Hawke felt each one as a hot, needy throb between her thighs - and then Anders lifted his head away from her. 

It was a brief separation, not even enough for Hawke to protest before he returned, no longer pinning her with his weight. Then he flicked his tongue, lizard-like, a tickling, brand-hot touch against her neck. Her eyes were glued to the wet muscle as Anders drew it back between his lips, her breath coming in harsh bursts. 

“Anders,” she said. “ _Anders_. Put that in me _right now_.”

Anders blinked at her again, and neglected to do so. Instead, he let his tongue flick back out, tracing a familiar path. The corner of her jaw, down the straining muscle of her neck, the same path he would kiss as a human when he felt like being infuriating. The path that turned her into a needy puddle _every time_ even if she knew what was coming next. And _this_ time -

His tongue was _hot_ , almost uncomfortably so, and it left trailing heat wherever he dragged it against her skin. It was just as dextrous as his long, clever hands, too, dragging flat over one nipple in a slow, rough pull, teasing the other with the softest flicks if the tip. 

He moved down, trailing breath and scales down her belly, and Hawke’s hands rose to grab at her breasts, holding that heat close. Her fingers closed around her own nipples, rolling and pinching even as she squirmed against the brush of Anders’ jaw-spikes against her thighs.

“ _Anders_.” Her voice was less forbidding than breathy, but she hoped her profound disgruntlement regarding Anders completely passing her pussy by, moving on down her legs was apparent. Disgruntlement that rapidly died as he - as delicately as he’d ever handled a fiddly potion or injured patient - took her trousers and smalls in his teeth and dragged them off her legs. Hawke let her knees fall sideways with a gasp, spreading herself open for his mouth. 

Finally - _finally_ \- he deigned to taste her. Hawke could feel the tendons in her thighs twanging under the teasing tension, every inch of her skin buzzing with anticipation. The heat of his mouth had left the skin of her chest and belly reddened and slick with spit that wasn’t yet cooling, the shallow catscratch of scales leaving slightly brighter lines along her inner thighs. 

His breath was _so hot_ against her, each heavy pant an almost physical blow against her pussy. Anders’ eyes had gone half-lidded, his pupils blown to almost perfect circles. Then he opened his mouth. 

He only held that pose for a moment, but it crystallized in Hawke’s memory with the perfect thrill of adrenaline. Each perfect fang a curved ivory needle, huge, molten-gold eyes, and that red, wet mouth… It was Anders, obviously it was, who wouldn’t ever ever hurt her, and _she_ knew that, but some part of her hindbrain tripped every alarm switch at the sight of that many teeth in those huge jaws parting around her most vulnerable parts. Electric alarm shot down every nerve, her muscles rippling with a flash of panic tension, and her intake of breath was a thready gasp. 

It didn’t give her enough air to shout when his tongue touched her slick folds, or the echoes would have driven the birds from the trees. The smooth, wet heat of his tongue against her breasts was nothing compared to the red-hot slide of it up the entire length of her cunt. Her head fell hard against the ground when he lingered at her clit, pressing hard and dragging back the hood, the friction sending hot little spears of sensation into Hawke’s legs and belly. 

He dipped back again, spreading her open with slow, deliberate licks. Hawke forced herself back up to her elbow, dragged her eyes halfway open, just to watch. Anders’ eyes were almost entirely hooded, just the faintest flash of yellow-and-black. His mouth was open, keeping his teeth well away from pressing into her flesh, and making them all the more visible. When she squirmed, she could feel the wicked curves of fangs caressing the flesh of her belly, just the faintest _hint_ of pricking pressure between her thighs. 

She thrust up into it, chasing the press of his tongue. Anders obliged each abortive jerk of her hips, pressing forward to meet her. Hawke recognized that she was grinding on his tongue, which was potentially absurd if she let herself think about it too long and also potentially the _hottest_ thing that had ever happened to her. 

As a drake, Anders’ tongue was long and pointed. Smooth and slick and incredibly dextrous, he licked Hawke open by degrees, long, hard, deliberate strokes against her flesh that lingered on her clit, letting her press into it, then leaving with a delicious flick that made her yelp before returning to repeat. 

When he finally pressed _in_ to her, Hawke’s yell did spook the birds. That tongue, hot wet slick _thick_ , thicker than Anders’ human cock, but it yielded to her limits, narrowing to slide deeper into her. Then Anders did _something_ , some rippling, flattening motion that made gold-white stars flare behind eyelids that Hawke couldn't help but squeezed closed. 

“ _Fuck_ \- Anders-” she gasped. “Keep- oh! _Don't stop doing that.”_

He didn't stop, but he _did_ growl, a subsonic rumble that went straight to her core like the very best of his lightning spells. Hawke could feel herself fluttering around his tongue, the desperate clench and grab of her inner muscles. With a harsh pant of breath, she plunged one hand down her body, under those teeth, to rub hard at her clit. 

It didn't take long, a few rough motions, her fingers brushing Anders’ fangs and his tongue where it disappeared inside her. The muscles of her thighs went tight, then slack. She fell back to the ground, her shoulders digging into the earth and her hips pressing forward demandingly as her orgasm swept through her in waves of white-hot, liquid pleasure. 

The peak of it passed, and Hawke let lassitude take her limbs, easing her into a fuzzy contentment. Anders didn't let her off, though, his tongue pulling out of her to lap almost daintily at her wetness, sending little rills of overstimulation up her spine. Her breath came in great, gasping pants, and so did his, hot gusts of metal-smelling air rolling across her body. 

Hawke stroked whatever bits of that great, scaly head she could, getting her breath back. She could feel him trembling, a faint shiver under his skin. His eyes were slipping in and out of focus, the steady motion of his tongue faltering - 

“Anders?”

With one final, rippling shudder, Anders lost his hold on the drake-shape, and Hawke closed her eyes against the queasy in-between moment of change, an instinctive reaction. She opened her eyes to Anders, fully clothed, levering himself up to his elbows. He was more disheveled than usual, his hair a mess, and sweat beading on his forehead. 

“Sorry,” he panted, “I couldn’t- hold it any more. You were too-”

He broke off with a sound that was equal parts gasp and laugh and moan as Hawke pulled him up her body to put her tongue in his mouth. His kiss was sloppy, uncoordinated - it always took him a few minutes to remember how a human face worked, after changing - but Hawke could feel him rutting hard and insistent against her thigh. 

“You,” she said against his mouth as her hands snaked under his coat to rid him of his many unnecessary layers, “were fantastic. Stop apologizing.”

“I- _mmmm_ ,” he broke off into a moan as Hawke got her hand around his cock. It didn’t take long to finish him off, worked up as he was, and he buried his face in her neck as he came, spurting against her hip. 

Anders rolled off her, collapsing on his back in the dirt, pressed up against her side. He put his hands over his face. “ _Maker_ ,” he said. “That was. A lot. You _smell_ like dragon now, did you know? I don’t think I should find that as hot as it is, that’s _your_ kink, not mine.”

Hawke grinned, then laughed in a giddy, thoroughly delighted way. She swung a leg over Anders, straddling his hips, and removed his hands from his face. “ _I’m_ yourk kink, probably,” she said imperiously. She ran a finger through the sticky place he’d left on her hip, and waved it in his face. Anders obediently licked it. 

“Go again?” Hawke offered, “I could go down on _you_ this time.”

“Hawke-”

“Your dragon-cock is probably as big as me! I do love a challenge.”

“ _Hawke_ -”

She grinned down at him, flushed and happy and completely wicked. When Anders dragged her down into another kiss, it was only slightly more coordinated than the last one. 

“Sure, okay,” he breathed to her triumphant whoop, “you’re _on_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to [therealmnemo](http://therealmnemo.tumblr.com) for alternately cheerleading and gleefully enabling "the F!Handers Dragonlingus Fic." You're a pal, pal. 
> 
> You can also find me on Tumblr as [Markasite](http://markasite.tumblr.com) and [PiedPica](http://piedpica.tumblr.com)!


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